


they don't open from outside

by oflights



Series: wake [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Communication, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oflights/pseuds/oflights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have to tell you something,” Sidney says. <i>or:</i> Sometimes having what you never thought you'd have is really hard to handle. (sequel to we hid in catacombs)</p>
            </blockquote>





	they don't open from outside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caperg33l](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caperg33l/gifts).



> So this is because Lacye asked for a coda to "catacombs" in a prompt meme on tumblr. I started writing it, started cursing, and wrote this whole thing. So thanks for that!! Seriously, I'm 20k words into another epic and have 10,000 more things to write, really did not need this.
> 
> But it was good to write, I had a lot more I wanted to say in that verse. I still have a bit more, actually, there was a section of this I cut out because I didn't like the way it fit in. I'll post that separately once I've looked at it a little more.
> 
> You probably need to have read "we hid in catacombs" first before reading this? I mean, it may or may not stand alone but it works best with the other fic. 
> 
> Title is from "Wake" again, and thanks to Bridget for the quick (and ruthless) beta work!

Sidney doesn’t hear Geno right away.

“What?” he says, loudly, if the way the other passengers are looking at him is any indication. He can’t hear much over the popping in his ears as the plane starts its descent over Pennsylvania, and he feels kind of sluggish and worn-out from the ride anyway, one step behind everything else. 

Landing will be a relief, because Sidney’s skin feels dehydrated and his legs are restless. It will also be a relief because that will mean they’re back in Pittsburgh, back to play hockey in Pittsburgh, to play hockey _together_ , and no matter how many times he pinches himself on the inside of his elbow, he still can’t convince himself he’s not dreaming. 

Geno leans in close, brushing his own dry-skinned hand over the back of Sidney’s and squeezing it just for a moment, the barest hint of pressure the makes Sidney want to close his eyes and lean in to every press of Geno against him. This is not the right place to do that, and he’s not sure he’d have enough energy for that, anyway. But he still wants to. Sidney has long-since stopped denying what he wants when it comes to Geno.

Geno’s lips are dry against his ear, but his voice—thick and sleepy and _happy_ —cuts through the blood rushing behind Sidney’s eardrum and the air popping through the canal. “Say, am glad we are back,” Geno says, and Sidney’s terribly, terribly exhausted, but he feels like he could run a marathon right then.

“Me too,” Sidney says, and he’s still too loud, he’s sure of it. Geno looks amused and fond and stays leaning in, probably too close for public, and Sidney could not care less how loud he is. He feels like he’d shout it over the PA system if he could, because Geno is _glad_ , he’s happy to be back with Sidney, back _here_ with Sidney, and a small part of him had doubted that slightly in the first moment that Craig called to tell him the lockout was over.

“Get back here,” Craig had said, tired and hoarse and deliriously happy, the same delirium in his voice that Sidney was starting to feel bubbling through his veins. He’d been at Geno’s parents’ place, finishing what felt like a never-ending late lunch under the severely watchful eyes of Geno’s mom, and he’d felt like he was going to burst from more than just food when he got that call.

“It’s over,” Sidney had said, without really thinking, and Geno’s parents didn’t understand but Geno did, right away. His fork had dropped to his plate, he’d looked up at Sidney, and his eyes were wide and dark and unreadable. 

Sidney still can’t read them, not completely, not even with Geno sitting next to him on the plane, warm at his side and _there_ , somehow. It’s all so inexplicable, still hard to categorize or imagine as reality, that Geno can be glad to leave his home for the NHL and for Sidney.

He has to pinch himself again, can’t help it, and Geno catches him at it. He grabs Sidney’s other hand, squeezing his fingers together tightly, and looks at his face until Sidney cracks and looks back.

“Stop pinching,” Geno says. “Is real, not a dream.” He rubs his thumb lightly over Sidney’s knuckles, and Sidney needs to tell him to stop, to pull away.

Sidney takes a deep, steady breath instead, and lets it out slowly. He squeezes Geno’s hand back and tries to relax in his seat. He doesn’t say anything because it would be too loud, but he leans into Geno’s warmth and holds on, hoping that says enough.

 

They call the meeting with Dan and Ray just as the short training camp is starting to end, the day after the Black and Gold game. Sidney kind of hates the timing, knows that they have more important decisions to be making and issues to contend with than Sidney and Geno, but it’s a meeting that needs to happen, and it needs to happen before the season officially starts.

Sidney is fine going into the meeting, he really is. He has a script, practiced with Mario and with Geno, and when he’s fixing Geno’s collar in the hallway outside of Ray’s office, Geno bumps his fingers against his side and says, “Nice game face, Sid.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sidney says. But Geno’s eyes are soft and warm, and his fingers skate up the side of Sidney’s ribs, over his shirt but still solid and somehow centering. Sidney’s fine, he absolutely is, and he can absolutely do this, but like most things, it will be easier with Geno at his side.

“Are you scared?” he asks anyway, and he doesn’t know if Geno being scared will make him feel better or worse. Geno smiles at him, small and just a little sad, and he leans down to touch their foreheads together.

“Crazy not to be scared. But, I think will be okay.” Sidney swallows hard and nods, slowly.

“Yeah. You’re right. It’s gonna be fine.”

“Better than fine,” Geno says, and he pinches Sidney’s side, quick and teasing. Sidney scowls and slaps at him, dodging a hip check and knocking into the wall, and Geno’s grinning hard now, which is really a good thing, all things considered.

Neither of them are grinning when the door to Ray’s office opens up and Dan sticks his head out, waving them in. Dan’s still in his practice clothes, a water bottle in one hand. He gives weird, bemused looks to Sidney and Geno in their shirts with buttons and the slacks Sidney had ironed for them both last night, burning his fingertips and cursing until Geno kissed him on the back of the neck and quietly commanded that he come to bed. 

“What’s up?” Ray asks from behind his desk, as Dan drops into a chair to his left and frowns at Sidney until he realizes that Geno has done the same and he’s the only one still standing. Geno tugs on his wrist but lets him go as soon as he’s in a chair. Ray, Dan and Geno all chuckle a little bit, and Sidney tries to chuckle, too, but it comes out thick and wrong. Ray leans forward in his seat. “You look like you’re going to church. Everything okay?”

Sidney opens his mouth, barely registering how his tongue feels like sandpaper and his throat feels like it has something awful lodged in it. But Dan cuts in, smiling at them both. “I hope you’re not here for trades—it’s a short season, you know, we’ve been advised against making big moves. You’ll have to sit on your Philadelphia dreams until the offseason.”

Everyone laughs heartily but Sidney, which is not really atypical. But it makes Geno’s laugh shorter, and he leans over and bumps Sidney’s shoulder, obviously trying to get him to look at him. Sidney does, just for a moment, as the rest of the laughter dies down and Dan’s smile starts turning into a frown.

“Wait. You’re not—”

“No!” Sidney yelps, feeling sick at the thought, and it’s good enough to get Dan smiling again, albeit smaller this time. That’s all Sidney can get out, though, because he is not fine, the script is completely out of his head and he has no idea how to start this.

Ray seems to sense this. Sidney can feel his heavy gaze on him for a while, and he feels it shift to Geno. Sidney looks up under his lashes to note Ray’s hands steepled in front of him on his desk, his face patient and calm. “Geno?” he asks quietly, and Geno lets out a little chuckle.

“Nothing like trade,” Geno says, and he takes a deep breath and looks at Sidney again. Sidney stares back, mind whited out and useless with paralyzing fear, and it’s almost comforting to know that Geno has no idea how to start, either, but also not really. If neither of them can start, how can they do this?

Something helpless must be showing on Sidney’s face, because Geno’s face hardens slightly, and he turns back to look at Ray and Dan, shoulders set. “Have to tell about relationship,” he says, all in a rush, thickly accented so that Sidney can barely understand it.

Dan and Ray both blink, identically confused, and Ray repeats, “Relationship?” with gentleness, the way he usually approaches miscommunication with Geno. 

“Yes,” Geno says firmly. “Relationship between us.”

Now Dan sits up straight. “Is there a problem?” he asks, his voice shifting from amused and casual to the serious tone he uses during intermissions in a flash. “If you two are having some kind of disagreement—”

“Not a problem,” Geno says, and Dan doesn’t get it but Sidney can see that Ray does, right away. His face goes utterly blank, perfectly unreadable, and Sidney swallows hard and avoids eye contact. “Opposite of problem. We are—”

He breaks off, and Dan is still not quite there yet, but Ray is so it doesn’t matter. It’s done now, it’s out in the room and no one can take it back, and Sidney is terrified but he doesn’t want to take it back. He sits up a little straighter in his seat, reaches out, and though every ounce of self-preservation in him is screaming not to, he knocks his knuckles against Geno’s until Geno blinks at him and lets him take his hand. 

“It’s not a problem,” Sidney says, and the realization dawns over Dan’s face in a split second. “It’s definitely not, and it won’t be a problem for the team, we can both promise that. It wasn’t—it was going on for a while, a really long time, and it never created any problems for anybody else, we always made sure of that. And I’m sorry that we weren’t honest with you guys to begin with, but now we—”

“Sid,” Dan says sharply, and Sidney shuts his mouth, though the rest of the script is flying through his brain now. Geno shoots him a small smile, as if he’d understood even half of all that, with Sidney talking at that speed. “Take a breath, you don’t need to go on the defensive with us.”

“Sorry,” Sidney says, and Geno makes a small, unhappy noise, but stays quiet with a look from Ray.

There are a few more beats of silence, broken by Ray, who says very evenly, “Who else knows?”

It’s a question that feels like a punch in the gut, the worst part of the very bad parts of this that he and Geno had gone through, but Geno shrugs and starts talking. “My parents, brother. Agents, Sergei. Some friends back home. Trust all of them.” He looks at Sidney, because it’s his turn, and Sidney takes another deep breath.

“My agent.” Sidney can’t help but wince, thinking of that disaster, the stomach-sinking feeling he still gets from reliving that conversation, but he speaks again because this will make him feel better. “Mario.”

Everyone keeps looking at him, as if waiting for him to list more, and now it’s Sidney’s turn to shrug. “That’s it.”

Geno mutters something under his breath, not in English and probably not anything decent, but he squeezes Sidney’s hand. Dan’s eyes are warm now, mouth turned down and sympathetic, and he’s having a silent discussion with Ray before he turns back to Sidney and Geno. 

“I trust both of you,” Dan says, making eye contact with them each in turn. “I know there’s not anything either of you wouldn’t do for this team. You would never do anything to harm it. I’m—” He breaks off, clearing his throat and shaking his head a little. “I’m disappointed that you felt you couldn’t come to us, to _me_ , until now—”

“No, it wasn’t—” Sidney starts, but Geno cuts in ruthlessly.

“He goes to agent first, Brisson says—” Geno’s scowling, face thunderous, and Sidney lets go of Geno’s hand to shake him by the shoulder, shaking his head. 

“Stop, Geno, you need to let it go.” 

“Brisson wasn’t supportive,” Ray says, completely toneless in a way that tells Sidney he’s probably pissed as hell. Sidney shakes his head again, and Geno snorts loudly.

“Worse than that. He—”

“ _No_ ,” Sidney snaps, and then he makes his face clear and neutral to turn back to Ray and Dan. “He was doing his job, looking out for my best interests. And it’s all worked out now, so—we don’t need to worry about Pat, okay?”

“I understand, Sid,” Ray tells him, and Dan is nodding beside him. “We’ll be acting in your best interests, too.”

For a second, Sidney is completely, utterly terrified; he thinks his heart might have actually stopped. Geno has stiffened, too. But just as quickly, Ray continues, “We’re behind you guys, one hundred percent. Dan trusts you, I trust you—we need you to trust us, too. Trust that we’ll be supporting you in this, in whatever move you want to make next.”

“We just want to tell the team,” Sidney says quickly, because he’s so relieved he actually feels faint. “That’s—nothing big or public, just the team. They have a right to know.”

“They absolutely do,” Dan says, and he looks proud, which is so completely bizarre to Sidney that he can’t even comprehend it. “Would you like me to be there when you tell them, or is this something you can handle on your own?”

“We can handle,” Geno says, with a firm, solemn nod. 

Dan nods back, eyes crinkled in a kind smile behind his glasses. “Good. Thank you for telling us, I really appreciate it.” 

Sidney opens his mouth to protest, because really, there’s nothing to _thank_ them for, but Ray quickly and loudly adds, “Thank you, and I mean it,” and that effectively shuts him up.

They all shake hands, and Sidney is sure to be steady about it, wiping his palms discreetly on his stupid slacks just in case they’re sweaty and hunching his shoulders when Ray catches him at it, smiling. Ray and Dan walk them both out, Ray clapping Sidney on his shoulder and, when Dan and Geno get ahead of them, he leans in close to Sidney’s ear.

“Are you happy, Sid?”

Sidney doesn’t need a script for this answer; it’s an immediate, a given, just one look at Geno laughing at something Dan is saying. He nods quickly, and Ray lets out a small breath and mutters, “Good,” and Sidney says the words out loud anyway.

“Yeah, I’m really happy.” 

 

Sidney is miserable.

“I think there’s something really wrong with me,” he tells Colby on their way back from practice, having finally decided on a lunch spot through a conversation that had consumed most of their attention. Now that Sidney can’t concentrate on voicing his vehement disapproval of all things to do with Thai food, he can’t help blurting out what’s been on his mind for ages. 

Colby raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with you, it’s called afraid-of-new-things-itis—that’s the Latin word for it—and you’ve got it bad.”

“I’m not talking about food,” Sidney says. “It’s—it’s like this feeling I’ve been having.”

“A feeling,” Colby repeats, and he takes his hand off the wheel to press his palm over Sidney’s forehead, laughing when he squawks and bumps his head on the passenger window trying to jerk out of reach. “You think there’s something wrong with you because you’re having a feeling?”

“It’s like a sick kind of feeling,” Sidney insists, but somehow he feels like he’s convincing his mom he’s really sick and should totally get to stay home from school. “Like—like a virus, maybe.”

That, at least, merits a deep frown, and Colby reaches out with his hand again, probably to seriously check for a fever, but Sidney is successful in dodging it. “Have you talked to the trainers? Sid, if you’re actually sick, you shouldn’t be—”

“It’s not affecting my play,” Sidney says, and Colby sighs very deeply and long-sufferingly. He puts his turn signal on and performs a sharp and very illegal U-turn that has Sidney clutching the side of his door and swearing harshly under his breath. “Wait, what about lunch?”

“If you think you have a virus, you’re seeing a doctor,” Colby says. “We can get Thai food another time.”

“I thought we were getting Mexican?”

“Sure, buddy. Whatever you want.” Colby sounds soothing, and Sidney groans and bumps his head on the passenger window again.

“I don’t need a doctor, okay. It’s not—it’s probably not a virus.”

“I’m starting to think you’re actually delirious, but you’re not running a fever, so—”

“Colby, it’s not a virus. I mean, I wish it were a virus. I don’t know. It’s like this—this funny feeling I get, sometimes. In my stomach.”

Slowly, Colby pulls the car over to the side of the road and throws it into park. People honk at them as they pass, because this isn’t really an ideal spot to just hang, but Colby just turns in his seat and looks at Sidney patiently until he sighs and continues. “And sometimes I get, y’know, sweaty. Especially my hands. And my heart beats really fast. Maybe it’s not a virus, maybe I’m allergic to something—”

“Sid.” Colby still sounds patient and soothing, but now he’s also amused. “These feelings. They happen when you’re around someone specific, right?”

Sidney sinks lower in his seat. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So, okay, I’m going to rule out you being allergic to Russians—”

Sidney winces, squeezing his eyes shut. “Colby—”

“—because everything you’re describing just means you probably have a crush on Geno.”

“That’s impossible,” Sidney snaps. It sounds strong and assertive and captain-like in his head, but from Colby’s snort it probably just comes out weak. “He’s my teammate. That’s not even logical.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Colby mutters, and his fingers clamp over Sidney’s shoulder, shaking him in his seat. “It’s not a _virus_ , you moron. It’s not an allergic reaction. You have a crush. It’s a perfectly normal thing. You’ve dated before, come on, you know how this goes.”

“It’s never felt like this before,” Sidney says, giving up the ghost completely. Colby pats him more gently, and when Sidney dares to look over his eyes are soft. “He’s my teammate,” Sidney repeats sadly, and Colby slings his arm all the way around him and pulls him partially over the console, leaning in to meet him in the middle.

“I know, bud,” Colby says into the top of his head.

It’s not long before everyone knows, including Geno, which is probably the worst part. It gets so big, so stupidly consuming, that Sidney doesn’t know how to deny it or hide it. It’s just there, this huge, pulsing part of him that he just can’t shake, and in his head he keeps calling it a virus because he feels sick with it.

Geno’s not a jerk about it, which almost makes it worse. The stupid notes are bad, the teasing from all the guys, the snickering at practices that Coach Therrien has to silence, but Geno’s patience and kindness are somehow more humiliating. 

It would be better if he were a jerk. It would be better if he weren’t learning English, if he didn’t look surprised and quietly pleased every time Sidney laughed too loudly at one of his jokes (and then a little awkward, frozen, as if remembering _why_ Sidney laughs too loudly and drops things around him and forgets his own language skills, blushing and idiotic and three more steps behind than he usually is off the ice). 

It would be so much better if he didn’t understand Geno so well, if he’d just said no the first time Geno had asked him through pantomime if he could stay late after a practice with him. It would be better, even, if they didn’t have the language of hockey between them, if that didn’t work so damn well, and if Sidney could separate them like he can for everyone else. Sidney has a crush on Geno’s hockey like he has a crush on Yzerman’s hockey, or Mario’s, or Bill and Colby and Eric and Flower and all the guys that pour themselves into hockey the way Sidney does, working so hard because every bit is worth it.

But Sidney has a crush on what Geno puts into hockey, on what it means to him, and he thinks that’s why he can’t get over it. Geno wants to win as badly as Sidney does, and he knows how much work it takes, how you have to give it your all and how sometimes it feels like it’s the only thing that matters. He gets that about Sidney, the way no one else really does. 

So it’s not going to go away; there’s no cure for what Sidney feels for hockey, and so there’s no cure for what he feels for Geno. It’s miserable when he’s awake, when he’s making a fool of himself, but at night it’s better—Geno is something else to dream of, his smiling face beside the Cup, his arms around Sidney on the ice and off, something warm and solid to want and know he’ll never have. He’s never really wanted something he couldn’t possibly have. He’s never seen the point.

Geno isn’t something he can work for or earn, and so he’s Sidney’s favorite dream, the one he wants to keep.

 

“I’m hearing it everywhere, man,” Colby says, sounding exhausted and a little hysterical. “At practice, the dressing room, showers. I don’t know if the guys are fucking with me or I’m just going insane from lack of sleep, but I hear it _all the time._ ”

“Babies cry a lot,” Sidney tells him knowledgably, cradling his phone between his ear and shoulder so he can use two hands to check on the pizza bagels in the oven. He pulls the tray out, hazards a poke to the middle of one with his finger, and sighs when he feels they’re still cold. He knocks the oven door closed with his hip and turns the temperature up a bit. “You’re not going crazy, you’re just used to hearing it. It’ll get better.”

“Okay, Mr. Know-It-All. I forgot you raised all those newborns. Thanks for sharing your expertise,” Colby says, and Sidney rolls his eyes. “Whatever, stop letting me rant about my kid and tell me what’s going on with you.”

“I like hearing about your kid,” Sidney protests, but he thinks, carefully. It’s been on the tip of his tongue through the entire conversation to tell Colby what happened, to blurt out the information that he’s still slowly coming to terms with in his mind: Geno kissed him. Geno’s dating him.

“Sid,” Colby sighs. “You are a 22-year-old hockey player having the best season of your career. Cruise cannot be the most interesting thing you want to talk about.”

He’s thought about the conversation a lot, imagining how it would go and trying to script it in his head. Sometimes, imaginary Colby’s really psyched for Sidney, excited that he’s happy and into this with Geno and that it’s actually, truly happening. Other times, he doesn’t believe Sidney right away, and Sidney can’t blame him; most of the time Sidney can’t really believe it’s happening either.

Most of the time, in his head, Colby just worries. He worries that Geno’s on the rebound, that he’s with Sidney just because he knows Sidney wants him and won’t complain, or that Sidney’s letting his feelings cloud his judgment and isn’t thinking about how risky this could be. He worries a lot, and he’s disappointed in Sidney and scared for him, and it is always this scenario that stays at the forefront of Sidney’s mind whenever he thinks of telling Colby. 

“Cruise is interesting,” Sidney says stubbornly. “I want to hear more about him. I can’t see him for a long time, right?”

He takes the pizza bagels out just as they’re starting to blacken on the edges, and just as his front door opens to let Geno in. He brings the smell of fall into Sidney’s kitchen, and the soft smile he has on his face makes Sidney’s stomach feel squirmy and warm, a familiar feeling but also somehow new, so scarily possible. 

It’s a bit too much to deal with for a random weeknight, so Sidney pokes at the pizza bagels and sighs deeply when he finds the middles are cold again. The next time he looks at Geno, he’s holding up takeout menus with an angelic look on his face, and Sidney pastes on his most unimpressed expression.

“I can cook,” Sidney says, and Geno smiles the kind of smile that’s reluctant, lips pressed together like he’s trying to stifle it and failing. It’s one of Sidney’s favorite smiles. 

“I know,” Geno says, placating, but he’s spreading the menus on the island counter and ducking his head to hide that smile.

Eventually, Sidney shoves the hopeless tray of pizza bagels away and joins Geno at the other counter, standing hip to hip and letting Geno lean into his side. Geno plants a soft, casual kiss on the side of his head, and there is that warmth again, spreading through to the tips of Sidney’s toes. He leans up to kiss Geno back and then looks sadly down at the menus. 

“I _can_ cook. I can make spaghetti.” 

Geno wrinkles his nose and shoves the Italian menus away, shaking his head. “Not in mood.”

“I have eggs,” Sidney says, because now it’s more of a matter of pride than what he feels like having. His omelets are definitely a source of pride. “And cheese, I can make—”

“No more omelets,” Geno groans, ducking his head down onto Sidney’s shoulder. “Eat any more eggs, I sound like chicken.” He makes clucking chicken noises into Sidney’s neck, making him jerk and shove him and, of course, giggle like an idiot, which earns him a pleased Geno smile. 

“Fine,” Sidney sighs, and reaches into his junk drawer for a pen. He slaps the pen down onto a Chinese menu and pushes it towards Geno. “Circle what you want, I’ll make the call.”

“You are best cook,” Geno tells him, and though he can’t keep a straight face, Sidney kisses him for it anyway. He kisses him again when Geno eats one of the pizza bagels, wincing through the whole thing, and again after they finish their Chinese food on the couch, Geno’s legs stretched out over the coffee table and Sidney tucked into his side.

“Have you told a lot of people that we’re seeing each other?” Sidney asks after a last greasy kiss, slightly entranced by the flutter of Geno’s eyelashes when he blinks owlishly in response. He waits patiently for Geno to process the question, taking the confusion on his face in stride.

“We talk about not tell team, yes?” Geno says, and Sidney nods, looking down at Geno’s hand cupped over his knee, warm and heavy. 

“Yeah, that’s not what I mean. I mean like—other people. Not the team. Like Gonch, for example, or your mom.” Geno’s hand is so big, his fingers long and splayed out over Sidney’s track pants. Sidney traces them idly with his own finger and thinks about how much he used to dream about Geno’s hands, how much he used to jerk off thinking of them. He thinks about how much those hands have touched him lately, in better ways than he had ever even imagined.

“I tell Sergei,” Geno says after a minute. He sounds uncertain. “Is okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sidney says. He hopes Geno can’t feel his heartbeat picking up—they had agreed not to tell the team because if something went wrong, it could mess with the rest of the guys. But Geno told Gonch. 

Part of the reason Sidney has kept about 90% of his relationships a secret from everyone is that they have always inevitably ended. His first girlfriend had dumped in spectacular, humiliating fashion, and much worse than that was afterwards, Jack doing everything he could to make Sidney feel better because he felt bad for him. Sidney doesn’t like anyone to feel bad for him. He doesn’t like people knowing he’s upset because he’s always been embarrassed about letting things get to him, and letting people know about that always made it worse. When he was a kid, he only ever cried when his mom asked him if he needed to, even when she told him that it was okay.

But Geno told Gonch. So if this ends—if Geno remembers that he’s been in a long-term relationship with a woman for most of his adult life, and that that’s much more practical than shacking up with a socially maladjusted male hockey player—then Geno will have to deal with the consequences of telling Gonch. 

Just the thought of him being in the same situation with Colby nearly makes Sidney shudder. He almost does when Geno asks, “Who you want to tell, Sid?” 

Sidney kisses Geno again, deep and significant, meant to divert the conversation into something else. The answer is that he wants to tell Colby; he wants to tell everyone. He wants to go back in time to when he thought he had a virus and tell his younger self that Geno will want him back, even if it’s only for a little while.

Sidney’s not going to tell anybody, though. 

 

Once the team knows, Sidney keeps expecting everything to change. His senses remain alert and searching for it, overly sensitive to any mood shift in the dressing room, and he knows that Geno is doing the same thing, even if he’ll never admit it. 

The thing is, nothing really changes, and that kind of makes Sidney feel like an ass for not trusting his team. 

The older guys on the team, the guys who had watched Sidney suffer through his virus years ago, are mostly just happy. Except for Flower, though, who corners Geno before practice one day and drags him into a storage room while Tanger and Duper guard the door. Geno emerges white-faced but mostly happy, and his only explanation to Sidney amounts to, “Goalies crazy, Sid.” He seems really pleased about it. 

Tanner promises them both that no one will ever bother them, not if he can help it, and though Sidney assures him they have no plans of going completely public, Tanner just claps him on the back and says, “Just in case, know that, okay?” And Sidney—he’d kind of known that part of it, because the guys have known forever that Sidney’s gay and have always had his back about it. But it’s still good to hear from a new teammate, and Sidney shakes his hand gratefully.

But nothing changes, not fundamentally. They talk about Sidney and Geno’s relationship as often as they did about Sidney’s crush, and in the same way: teasing, kind of delighted. And it’s way better, really. No one feels bad for Sidney anymore, no one’s sharing commiserating looks with Geno when they think Sidney can’t see, and it all just feels much more dignified now. 

Sidney feels like he’s on more even footing with Geno now that everybody else knows it all goes two ways, and that’s—he’d known for a long time that he’d still felt a little stupid in his relationship with Geno, a little bit like it was way more intense on his side than on Geno’s. But he hadn’t realized how much he’d felt like that until now, when he barely feels it at all. 

The defining moment of this revelation comes when Nealer corners Sidney before another practice, shoving him into that same storage closet, this time with Paulie guarding the door and winking at Sidney as it’s shut behind him. 

James frowns at him heavily, arms crossed over his chest and eyes wide and serious, and he’s obviously trying to intimidate Sidney, but Sidney just wants to laugh. Sidney had been threatened by every member of the Gonchar family and the scariest member of the Malkin family (Geno’s mom) back in Russia; he really doesn’t think there’s much that Nealer can say to scare him right now.

Still, Sidney stares back and waits for it, just sort of really happy that James has Geno’s back like this. James’ voice is grave when he says, “Look, G had a great season last year.”

Sidney nods. “Yeah, he did.”

“But man, right after the All-Star Break—you totally did something to him, didn’t you?” 

A lump forms in Sidney’s throat, but he nods, because it’s the truth and he’s never going to stop owning up to how badly he screwed up. “Yeah, we—yeah. I did something.”

“And you fixed it?” James asks, nodding when Sidney nods a third time. “And you’re not going to do it again?” 

“God, no,” Sidney says immediately, because he can’t even imagine putting either of them through that again, even beyond the messiness of having told everyone now. Sidney thinks he would totally deserve whatever humiliating, misguided attention he’d get if he messed things up with Geno again. 

“Good,” James says, and he looks honestly relieved. “Because, hey, you’re my captain and whatever, but Geno’s—I’ll still kick your ass, okay? Don’t think I won’t.”

“Yeah, man,” Sidney says, and he probably shouldn’t be smiling, but he can’t really help it. “I got it.”

“Good,” James says again, and he punches Sidney’s shoulder, hard, then says, “Good talk,” and guides them out of the closet.

Geno laughs for a few solid minutes when Sidney tells him, head thrown back and clutching his stomach, and Sidney grins watching him. “Lazy,” Geno says fondly, his own grin splitting his face, and Sidney shakes his head. “He scare you?”

“Ha, no,” Sidney says. “But it was good he did that. He’s a good friend.”

“He best,” Geno agrees, his eyes sparkling. They’re supposed to be debating dinner plans, considering the options of Duper’s house or takeout, and Sidney’s hungry, but he really doesn’t mind just sitting around with Geno when he looks this happy. He radiates warmth like this, and Sidney just likes to be near that warmth. “We even now, I get attack from the French club, you get Nealer and all of Russia after you.”

“I don’t really see how that’s even,” Sidney points out, but he stops himself from adding that it probably shouldn’t be, that he basically deserves all of Russia after him. Geno’s warmth fades a bit, then, as if he’s thinking the same thing, and Sidney is scrambling to change tracks when Geno leans over Sidney’s counter and tries to make eye contact, face serious.

“Is good thing, Sid,” Geno says, reaching out to cup Sidney’s hand. “Friends make threats, it means—we official couple.”

Sidney feels himself flushing, but it’s a good feeling—good enough that he can meet Geno’s eyes and smile a bit. That’s the first time Geno has ever called them a couple. 

 

“You make me so happy,” Sidney tells Geno over hot chocolate, and when Geno tells him that Sidney makes him happy, too, he comes to a decision.

There are a lot of different ways Sidney can approach this, and he considers all of the pros and cons of who to tell first. He makes lists, ignoring his laptop out of concussion-induced habit, and carefully writes out names and advantages and disadvantages on printer paper, coming up with a game plan.

He arranges the lists into categories: practical, sentimental, risky, safe. Waiting to talk this out with Geno falls purely into the sentimental category; he kind of wants it to be a surprise. He also wants more information first, to feel out how possible any of this is before he brings it up with Geno and then disappoints him. This is the first time Sidney thinks that Geno could be excited about telling other people, and the thought makes him kind of giddy.

Telling Mario is in the risky category, and Sidney hates that. His parents, too, and that whole category just makes Sidney depressed, so he pushes it aside and looks at the other options. Taylor. Colby. Max, though the very thought makes him queasy. Taylor and Colby are at least safe, though, and probably a little sentimental, too. They’ll tell him what they think he should do next. They won’t mock him (that much).

But he resigns himself to the only name in the practical category, and forms a separate game plan for Pat. It’s the right move, Sidney knows, the smart first step, and he prepares so thoroughly that he allows himself to feel optimistic, just briefly.

They had had a meeting set up anyway, and Sidney lets the meeting go on as it normally would; that is part of the game plan. In his giddiness and nervousness, most of his actual script kind of goes out of his head when he first brings the relationship up, so it starts out all wrong. Pat asks him, “So how are things otherwise?” and he means besides hockey, besides the concussion, and for a second Sidney is just so excited to have something else to mention besides hockey or the concussion that he forgets himself.

He blurts out, “I’m seeing someone,” much too quickly, too eager, and he’s immediately embarrassed about it. But Pat smiles at him, reaches out and clasps his arm companionably.

“That’s great, Sid. I’m really happy for you.” His face goes a bit harder, almost apologetic, and he leans in closer, like they’re not alone in Sidney’s makeshift home office, sitting around near the fireplace he’s afraid to use and the desk that houses all of his pro/con lists. “Now, we’ve talked about this, about—discretion. I don’t mean to be a downer, but—”

“No, I get it,” Sidney says, because they’ve had this talk before, more times than Sidney has ever wanted to have it. He stumbles a bit, going through it all in his head, because he doesn’t want publicity for he and Geno; he just wants more legitimacy, something acknowledged by more people they can trust. That was all in his script, but it’s hard to get that out now. “I mean, he doesn’t—he understands the situation, obviously, and he—that’s the thing, he’s—”

“I know it’s not the most romantic of options, but I’ve had nondisclosure agreements drafted in case of this eventuality,” Pat says very calmly, and Sidney blanches, shaking his head.

“No, we don’t need—it’s not like that. We—” Sidney pauses, trying to regroup, and Pat waits patiently, letting him gather himself. “It’s not that kind of situation,” Sidney says eventually, and then he knows he has to give Pat the full picture; that had been the whole point of this. “The person I’m seeing is a teammate.”

Pat is quiet long enough for Sidney’s palms to start sweating, and he blurts out the rest in the nervous silence. “It’s—I’m seeing Geno, Pat.”

The silence stretches on, thick and heavy, and Sidney tries to read Pat’s face, but there’s not much there. His agent has always been inscrutable; it’s part of what makes him the best at what he is, and his unwillingness to blink first has always been the thing Sidney has most appreciated about him. Now he’s kind of cursing that characteristic, because he has no idea how this is going right now.

He gets a clue, though, when Pat says, very softly, “Sid. Why are you telling me this?”

Sidney frowns, thinking about it. It’s probably the fairest question that Pat can ask. “Because I want your advice on how to move forward.”

Pat nods. “And by moving forward, you mean—”

“Telling people,” Sidney says, and then he hastily clarifies. “I mean management, the team, my family—people we can trust, but no one beyond that. No one that doesn’t already know I’m into guys.”

“I understand,” Pat says, and then he takes a visible breath. For a second, he looks pained, and Sidney’s stomach drops, but the expression clears before his next words are spoken. “Sid, I have to—if you want my advice, then I have to ask you to reconsider this kind of relationship.”

Sidney tries to reorder those words in his head, making better sense of them, but he still has to ask, “I’m sorry?”

“I think that, at this point in time—at a critical point in your career, which you’d agree with—you need to think about the risks a relationship with a teammate will come with. My advice would be to take some time away from the relationship and reconsider it during a more stable time.”

That’s still some really complicated talk, and Sidney keeps coming to a conclusion that he’s sure has to be wrong. “What do you mean when you say ‘take some time away from the relationship’? Like— _away_ , what does that mean?” 

“It means that you should—you should end things with Geno,” Pat says plainly, and Sidney laughs for a moment, but he stops when he says that Pat’s face remains unchanged. “Maybe temporarily, maybe not, but my advice is still that you should—”

“Are you seriously telling me to break up with Geno?” Sidney asks disbelievingly, and Pat nods, looking him right in the eye. “That’s—yeah, that’s not happening.”

“Sid—”

“I didn’t bring this up to ask your permission,” Sidney says, voice getting higher and kind of pissing him off. “I didn’t—we’ve been seeing each other for 18 months. We’re both adults, and you have no right to—”

“Sidney, I want you to listen to me,” Pat says in a firm, cool voice. Sidney bites down on snapping out more righteous indignation, anger curling along his bones and making a headache form at his temples. But he listens; he always listens. “I don’t want to upset you, especially not now. But you asked for my advice, and I’m giving it to you. Your relationship with Geno— _specifically_ with Geno—is high-risk. It’s controversial. It’s everything you’ve tried to avoid in your entire career.”

“Specifically with Geno?” Sidney echoes, clenching his fists as the headache starts to throb. He swallows hard and concentrates on not letting his voice crack when he continues. “You—we’ve talked about this. We talked about this years ago, I never hid it from you, and you said you were okay with me being gay. You said you could handle it, handle whatever comes with it.”

“That’s all still true,” Pat tells him. He reaches out as if to pat Sidney’s arm again, and Sidney jerks away. “Sid, I promise you that that’s still true. But this is a different issue than your sexuality. This is much, much bigger. This is a _teammate_ , another professional athlete, and a superstar in the prime of his career. With you out, the spotlight has been on Geno all year, and with the year he’s been having, you know it’s going to stay that way for a long time. Don’t you see how incredibly dangerous that is?”

“But that’s not—it’s your job to make sure nothing dangerous happens,” Sidney says. “That’s why I’m telling you now.”

“And that’s why I’m telling you that I don’t think I can protect you from the possible repercussions of this.” Pat is watching Sidney carefully, eyes lingering on his hands until Sidney realizes that they’re shaking. “When you came out to me, the very first thing you said was that you didn’t want your sexuality to have anything to do with your professional life. You asked me to make sure they always remained separate. And I’ve done that, just as well as you have. But I don’t know if I can continue to do that if you continue to see Geno, and if anyone in the general public finds out about it.”

“We’re not going to let anyone find out about it,” Sidney says, stupid desperation starting to claw at him. “That’s not—this is insane! You can’t tell me to break up with Geno, okay?” It just seems crazier the more he thinks about it—Geno wants him _back._ They’re happy together. They’re two adults who know the risks, who have people in their lives to help manage the risks, and it’s—it’s all worth it. It feels worth it. 

He should explain that. He tries to—he stammers about how careful they’ve been, how no one even has a clue, how Geno doesn’t treat Sidney any different than any of the other guys, except for when they’re alone. 

Pat listens, but his face never changes, and Sidney feels his anger mounting. It peaks when Pat says, “You have to realize that this could end both of your careers.”

“So what?” Sidney snaps, and then they are both stunned into silence.

It takes a few moments for what he’d said to actually register, and when it does, horror spreads through him like ice water. Sidney slumps in his seat, his heart pounding, and he has to put his face in his hands because he no idea what’s showing on it. 

“Sid,” Pat says, voice hushed and shocked, and Sidney shakes his head slowly.

“I have a headache,” he says, which is not a lie. “You should—you should go, I need to lie down.”

“Sid, we need to talk—”

“I can’t do this right now,” Sidney tells him. Pat sighs heavily, and Sidney can hear him stand. He nears Sidney and rubs a hand briefly over his slumped back, patting him on the shoulder.

“We’ll talk soon,” Pat says, and Sidney doesn’t look up until he’s gone. 

He puts himself back in the quiet room, turning off his phone and all the lights and crawling under the covers. He lets the time pass the way it did during the worst of his concussion: slow and fraught with worry and anxiety, his stomach rolling with nerves more than any actual symptoms. Sidney tries to shut his brain off until the headache feels manageable, practices the way he always used to. It almost works; he almost drifts to a place where he’s not devastated by what he’d just said, what he’s actually, truly feeling right now.

But Sidney never quite makes it to that place, so soon there is nothing else to do but turn his phone back on and wait. Geno texts him, and Flower and Duper; Nathalie calls and leaves a message asking about his dinner plans, and Sidney lets them all go, lets the headache pound through him until it’s all he can think about.

Pat calls, as Sidney had known he would, and it’s the only call Sidney answers. He sounds as sick with worry as Sidney feels, so apologetic that Sidney can’t be angry with him. 

“You were right,” Sidney says before Pat can apologize any more. 

Pat is quiet, but Sidney knows he doesn’t have to say anything else.

 

When Sidney gets back home, he finds Geno in his house. This is not odd—since Jeffrey had to stay behind with Geno’s parents, Geno hates his empty house and vastly prefers Sidney’s, though Sidney always argues that Geno’s is still more lived-in. “House remind me of Sid,” Geno always says, with one of his dumb smiles, and that still makes Sidney blush, even if he doesn’t entirely get it. It’s just a _house_.

But Geno has made himself at home, camped out on the couch under a pile of blankets with an empty plate on the coffee table in front of him. And that’s still not the odd part; Sidney likes that part.

The problem is that Geno is laughing heartily at something Russian on the TV, and all the lights are on. “Geno,” Sidney says disapprovingly from the doorway, dropping his bag on the floor, and Geno turns and grins widely at him.

“Honey, you home!”

“Oh my God,” Sidney groans, pressing his lips together _hard_ so he won’t smile. “Geno, come on, you know you’re not supposed to be—”

“At least take coat off before nag,” Geno says, looking back at the TV. 

Sidney sighs but takes off all his winter things, his shoes kicked off by the front door. He flips the light off on the way to the couch, and though he lets Geno pull him down next to his blanket pile and kiss him gently on the mouth in greeting, he pulls back to look at the TV with more disapproval. “Geno. Come on.”

“No headache,” Geno says, keeping one hand out of his cocoon to rub at the back of Sidney’s neck. “No dizzy, no sick, remember the hit a little bit now—”

“But you know that symptoms can recur at any time,” Sidney says, and Geno rolls his eyes and smacks a kiss to the front of Sidney’s forehead.

“I know, Dr. Sid. I remember.” He rubs at Sidney’s neck again, reminding him of the worst stretches of his own concussion, the nights spent in the quiet room with only Geno’s touch keeping him from getting lost in a headache. He’s happy that Geno isn’t going through any of that, really grateful that this isn’t as bad as it could’ve been, but he can’t help worrying, too. Geno is stubborn, absurdly so, and while that can be an attractive quality, it can also be frustrating.

“You’re ridiculous,” Sidney says, but he leans into Geno’s warmth and drops his head down onto Geno’s cushioned shoulder. 

He’s exhausted, the Montreal game sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach despite the outcome, and on another day he and Geno would probably be hashing out the game between them. But he doesn’t want to overwork Geno’s brain, and while he hates the TV just on merit of remembering how rough it had been on his own headaches, he’s glad that Geno has something mindless to do, at least.

Geno keeps an arm around him, laughs a few more times at the program, and shuts it off after a little while when the end credits start rolling. He kisses Sidney on the top of the head and says, “Bedtime?”

“Yeah,” Sidney says gratefully, and he looks up at Geno, narrowing his eyes. “You should be resting.”

“I rest. Best patient.”

“No, your show is over, so you want to go to bed.”

“No,” Geno says, grinning wryly. “I am listen to Dr. Sid.”

Sidney grumbles, but he forces himself up off the couch and pulls Geno with him, not bothering with the pile of linens he leaves behind. He grabs Geno’s plate and knows it’s a true testament to his exhaustion when he can just leave it in the sink overnight almost guilt-free. 

Geno goes up the stairs and Sidney drinks a glass of water thinking of Geno warming up his bed, his whole body sort of aching with the desire to join him there. Sometimes it’s still weird for him, knowing that a simple trip up the stairs is what separates him from having that, even though he and Geno have been together for so long now, and they’re together _again_ , somehow. Somehow Sidney gets to have this, Geno in his house and in his space and humoring his nagging, and it’s still hard to wrap his head around it.

Upstairs, Geno is exactly where Sidney had pictured him, on the same side as always, careful of where Sidney usually likes to sleep, even though he had preferred Sidney’s side to begin with. Sidney’s mind always catches on things like that, Geno accommodating Sidney, and sometimes it makes him feel unsettled.

He can’t sleep on the wrong side, it throws his whole day out of whack, but what if Geno couldn’t handle that? 

He tries to release some of the unwanted tension suddenly running through him as he goes about his nightly routine, but his shoulders still feel a little stiff even he gets into bed and tries to melt into the mattress. Geno’s arm goes around him, which is not really unusual but not totally routine, either, and it’s what gives Sidney away: he stiffens a bit, then looks at Geno apologetically.

“What is wrong?” Geno says immediately, eyes big in the dim light from the cracked bathroom door, intent as he picks his head from up his pillow and studies Sidney’s face. 

Sidney licks his lips and thinks about what to say—he’s been trying harder to figure out the right words, because he feels like he’s always been saying the wrong words to Geno. 

Before he can articulate anything, Geno leans in close and kisses Sidney on the cheek. “I am fine,” he says quietly, and he’s been saying that for a while now—on the phone from home, and every night since the hit, before Sidney goes to sleep, whether they’re physically together or not.

It’s easier to believe him with Geno so warm and close and solid in bed with him, and Sidney can relax a little and nod. And part of him wants Geno to drop it there, to settle back down and end it, because he still doesn’t know what to say, but Geno doesn’t do that.

“Have to talk, Sid,” he says, and his voice rumbles with meaning, the exact hints of darkness there that lets Sidney know Geno’s thinking about the breakup. “Is only way this work, yes?” And now Sidney’s thinking about the breakup, too.

“Yes,” Sidney says quietly, and he thinks for a few more moments.

Geno waits, a hand circled around Sidney’s wrist lying against his chest. It’s an easy enough decision to reach up and circle his own hand around Geno’s forearm, and tangled up a bit like that, Sidney breathes a little and then starts talking without really thinking.

“Do you ever worry about people finding out?”

Geno leans down slightly against his pillow, still angled to look at Sidney. “You mean public, yes?” Sidney nods, and Geno sighs. “Yes. Worry all the time, of course. You too?”

Sidney’s instinct is to say yes, of course he does, but he promised, halfway across the world, to always be honest. “I don’t—I don’t think I worry enough.”

The room goes quiet, and Geno watches him thoughtfully. A small smile quirks over his lips. “I go crazy? Sidney Crosby not worry _enough_?”

“Geno,” Sidney mutters quietly, and Geno nods and kisses his cheek again.

“I know, Sid. Sometimes I feel like, too. It goes good with team, good with office, makes me think—crazy things. Things make our agents mad.”

The bottom kind of goes out of Sidney’s stomach, thinking of his agent, and Geno must sense it, because he makes a small noise and tugs Sidney a little closer to him. “Sorry,” Geno whispers, and Sidney just shakes his head and kisses him, soft and little bit desperate. 

“I don’t want to make our agents mad,” Sidney says, and Geno nods, cupping his cheek. “But I don’t want—I love you.”

Geno smiles at him, gentle and warm and lovely enough that Sidney wants to pinch himself again. “Love you too,” he says immediately, and he kisses Sidney again, this time more lingering.

 

There aren’t enough regulars to make the practices seem real, and Dan isn’t there, but Sidney makes it work. It feels good to set his shoulders and concentrate on the dirtier, grittier parts of their game, to shape what he and his linemates have been doing together into something different, a little more defined, a lot more in sync. It’s a good distraction.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Chris tells him, breathes it in his ear as he tries to work him off a puck. He rams him hard into the boards, harder than he would have in practices last season or even a few weeks ago, and it feels really fucking good. Sidney braces himself and keeps his center of gravity low and, bearing down, wrestles himself and the puck free to pass.

Duper is there, and the shot he releases once Sidney’s puck finds his stick is quick, but it could be quicker. “Don’t hesitate,” Sidney calls, and Duper nods, taps their sticks together. “It’s coming to you, it’s just a matter of when.”

“Ridiculous,” Chris says again, tapping Sidney’s helmet and skating over for Gatorade. He’s grinning, beaming at the both of them, and he watches them work on Duper’s release for a little while before rejoining them. “Again,” he says, still grinning, and everybody else has gone home.

“Coming home with me tonight?” Duper asks after, when they’ve cleared off their section of ice at Southpointe and finished showering. 

Sidney thinks about it, glancing over at Chris as he finishes tying his laces. Chris winks at him and turns to Duper.

“Hey, I think it’s my turn,” Chris tells him.

“No, yesterday was your turn,” Duper says, folding his arms over chest like he’s willing to be stubborn about it. Sidney smiles and shakes his head.

“It’s okay, I think TK wants to go out, I’ll probably text him and—”

“Sid,” Duper says sternly, frowning. “TK’s is helping Amanda study for biochem tonight. He said it like five times, when he was here an hour ago.”

“Right, not TK,” Sidney says hastily. “I meant Nealer—” He shuts up when Chris punches him in the shoulder, standing up and kind of looming over him.

“Sid. Go to Duper’s, or come home with me.”

“I’m not an orphan, come on,” Sidney says, but Duper’s still frowning, and that makes him feel guilty.

“You want us to trust you out there, right?” Duper says, nodding out at the entrance to the rink. Sidney nods, ducking his gaze. “Then you have to trust us in here, too. We’re not going to just let you sit home and mope. Come for dinner, eat something besides omelets, for God’s sake.”

“I’m not going to mope,” Sidney protests. When that’s not enough to sway either of them, he adds, “I have Homeland to watch.”

At least it makes them both laugh, until they realize he’s serious and start frowning at him again. Sidney rolls his eyes and finishes getting dressed, standing up so he and Chris are more even. “What do I have to mope about?” Sidney asks.

He’s both glad and a little guilty when the only reasons they start ranting about are hockey reasons. He’s thought often about telling them about what happened with Geno, because despite his best efforts, it’s never really been far from his mind. But Sidney has always liked putting in effort, a lot of effort even, and he’s not really into giving up just yet. 

There’s no use dwelling on mistakes he can’t fix. This is why he pours most of his energy into his time with Duper and Chris and the rest of the team cobbled together for pseudo-practices, sparing the rest for whatever the NHLPA wants him to do to help, and so really it’s only at night, when he’s home alone, that he has energy to think about Geno. This works perfectly fine for him.

Sidney and Pat avoid the subject like a sore tooth, which is the only way Sidney can really stand to talk to Pat. But Pat is a good agent, he always has been, and Sidney listens to him, listens when he constructs the idea of the player-owner-only meeting, and agrees to do what he can to help. If he helps, if they end this, Sidney will have hockey back more completely than he’s had it in a long time. He wants that.

When it blows up, and fails, he really doesn’t blame Pat for it. Not really. 

“Come on,” Pat says when he catches Sidney in the hallway of their hotel, glaring at the back of Ryan Miller’s unsuspecting head. “Let’s get a drink.”

It’s a bad idea, because Sidney doesn’t really blame Pat. He doesn’t want to blame Pat. He doesn’t want to be angry with him about anything, because no matter what Geno said, none of this was his fault.

But Sidney drinks, choking on the first few swallows but chugging them down stubbornly when Pat raises an eyebrow. They’re not exactly alone in the hotel bar, so Sidney keeps it down when he starts bitching, slurring his words lowly.

“What the fuck happened?”

“You know better than I do,” Pat says, sighing. Sidney snorts into his drink—like Pat doesn’t know every detail of went on in there, like he doesn’t know _everything_ , always. His agent has the most dirt on anybody in the league; he probably had the room bugged.

“No, but why can’t we just—I don’t get why they hate Don so fucking much.”

“They don’t hate Don. Don is just very good at his job.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Sidney groans, dropping his head onto his arms, but even now, he knows that’s because he’s drunk.

Pat gives him a tap on the shoulder, and he leans in a little closer, voice low. Sidney braces himself, can practically feel what’s coming, and when it does, anger flashes through him, white hot. “Listen, I know you’re going through a tough time—”

“Stop it.”

“It’s not just this whole circus, I know it’s about him too—”

“Don’t _talk_ to me about that!” Sidney says, louder than he’d intended. He leans back, drawing sick satisfaction from Pat’s wide, worried eyes. “Don’t talk about that. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know it was hard on you. _I_ was hard on you. But you need to keep it together—”

“I’m trying!” It comes out strangled and awful, but for once he doesn’t really care who else is listening, if fucking Kevin Westgarth is witness to his meltdown. “I’ve done every fucking thing you said, everything! You said this would work, you said we could do this—”

“Sid—”

“No, stop it!” He hasn’t felt like this in a long time, and rationally he knows it’s the alcohol, but he also knows that it’s the failure, _again_. Sidney’s not sure how much more of it he can take. “I did everything you said to do. I went to Arizona, I talked to Ron, I begged some really pissed off players to see things like I do, to give it a chance, and—and what the fuck happened, Pat?”

“I don’t know, Sid,” Pat says. He looks over Sidney’s shoulder, making eye contact with someone, and then hardens his face. “But you’re making a scene, this isn’t like you.”

“Fuck you,” Sidney says viciously. “I’m sorry. No I’m not, but—I did everything you said. I’ve always done everything you say. I—I fucked it all up—”

“Oh man, Sidney—”

“And—and what do I—” Closing his suddenly stinging eyes, Sidney thinks of what he really does have. He has Duper and Chris and what they’re creating, something real and powerful and exciting. He has all the guys back in Pittsburgh, he has the guys he’d trained with, and he has his family, he always has them. He even has Mario, as weird and wrong as it’s been. And not one of them know the truth about him; none of them know how miserable he’s made himself, and none of them know why. “What do I have now, Pat? I did everything you said, and what do I have?”

“I’m sorry,” Pat says, voice hushed and quiet and sincere. Sidney wants to punch him.

“Sidney,” says a soft voice at his shoulder. A hand squeezes the back of his neck, and Sidney knows it’s Mario, knows he’s here to keep Sidney from losing his shit completely. Sidney doesn’t turn to look at him, stays glaring at Pat.

“You’re a bad agent,” Sidney says, lying blatantly, pissed off. “You’re fired.”

“No I’m not,” Pat tells him gently. Mario squeezes him again, shifting his weight in close and bearing some of Sidney’s.

Sidney heaves out a choked sob. “No you’re not,” he agrees miserably, and he leans his head on Mario’s shoulder.

He absolutely hates having to be helped up to his room by Pat and Mario, but luckily the only familiar face that sees them is Jonny, glaring down the hall like he can incinerate Mario with his eyes. Sidney waves at him and tells him, “S’okay, he’s a good one,” and he doesn’t think it helps, but Mario laughs softly in his ear and hauls him into the room. 

“I’ve got it, Pat,” Mario says, and Sidney gets dumped onto the bed. He thinks he’s still crying a little; his face feels wet where it’s not numb. 

But Mario says nothing about it, just takes off Sidney’s shoes and his belt and his jacket and gets him to wriggle under the covers. 

“I remember the first time the boys took you out,” Mario says, helping him with the buttons on his shirt. “Remember, I think it was Mark and Bugsy and Colby, of course. Maybe Maxime, too, and they took you home and you were so—they tried to leave you on the doorstep but they knocked over one of Nathalie’s potted peonies—”

“Mario,” Sidney says miserably, sniffing. Mario shushes him gently.

“And we carried you in—I’ve _never_ seen you that drunk, Sidney, not even since then. And I’ve never seen you look so young.”

“Stupid,” Sidney mutters, and Mario glares at him. 

“Yes, stupid. But—I saw you throw up all over yourself, rolled you onto your side so you wouldn’t choke. I sat up with you all night. I listened to you the next morning, moaning and promising me you’d never drink again. Yes, it was stupid of you to drink that much. But this—what you’re doing now, putting yourself through this—it’s immeasurably stupid.”

“What do I do?” Sidney asks, because that had essentially been what he’d wanted out of Pat, what he wants out of Duper and Chris and these awful negotiations. He needs a plan, needs a way to fix whatever terrible ache inside of him is making him feel like this.

“You talk to me, Sid, because you have to know that there is nothing you can do to make me stop caring about you,” Mario says, and Sidney thinks whatever’s left of his heart breaks right then and there.

“Okay,” Sidney says, taking a shuddering breath. He wipes his face, sits up a little, and looks at Mario as much as he can stand to. “I have to tell you something.”

 

“I have to tell you something,” Sidney says, before Geno can fall all the way asleep. 

Geno grunts and slits his eyes open, peering up at Sidney. “What?” he says gruffly, and then he must see something serious on Sidney’s face, because he sits up a little and opens his eyes wider. “What?” he asks, clearing his throat. “What wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sidney says quickly, but that might not be completely honest, and he’d promised that, honesty. That’s why he’s keeping Geno awake. “I just—I have to tell you something, about after we broke up.”

Geno nods, looking very serious. “Okay. Tell.”

“I was with someone else,” Sidney says all in one breath, and he immediately feels like 10 pounds lighter.

Geno is quiet, looking away from Sidney and down at his lap. He looks up and squints in the crack of light from the bathroom. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Sidney repeats, shifting a little nervously, careful of Geno’s shoulder. “I just—I thought you should know that. I was talking to, um, Duper, and he said some things that made me think—I mean, we already said how important communication is, and Duper thought it was kind of weird that I hadn’t talked to you about this, but I didn’t really think I was supposed to—”

“Not have to,” Geno says lowly, but when he looks at Sidney there’s a small, grim sort of smile on his face. “But me too? With someone too. Few people.”

“Okay,” Sidney says again, turning that over in his head a bit. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to feel bad about that—he thinks he would have months ago, remembers how much his stomach had burned with anger when he’d heard about Geno with Oksana, a desperation he didn’t even know he had left in him bubbling up. But now it’s so hard to feel anything but content with Geno lying next to him, Geno having chosen him, and any other people really don’t matter. 

He hopes Geno feels the same way. “You’re cool, then?” Sidney asks, making a face at himself when Geno’s smile turns lighter, more amused. “I mean, do you want me to tell you more about it, or—”

“With someone serious?” Geno asks, and Sidney shakes his head. “Me too.”

“It was just one person, at the beginning of the summer,” Sidney says. “Do you want to hear anything else?”

“No,” Geno says, and he reaches out for Sidney’s hand. “You want to hear?”

“No,” Sidney says, and he breathes out slowly, happy.

“Is it weird that neither of us care?” Sidney asks Duper the next day at morning skate. Duper shrugs, but turns thoughtful when Sidney bumps him purposefully, waiting for more.

“I think it means you’re too happy to care,” Duper says eventually. “It’s going well, right? So who cares about what happened in the summer?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sidney says. Duper gives him a frustrated little look, leaning over the boards to reach for water.

“It _is_ going well, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sidney doesn’t even really have to think about that. It’s going really well, alarmingly well, sometimes.

Duper rolls his eyes. “So now I am going to give you the best advice I can, my boy.” Sidney waits, face tipped up patiently, and Duper’s arm goes around him, squeezing tightly. “Stop _worrying_.”

“That’s like saying to him ‘stop breathing,’” comes Tanger’s voice, sandwiching him on Sidney’s other side and making him jump. “Stop being good at hockey, Sid.”

“Stop being a superstitious freakshow,” Chris says as he’s skating by, and they all laugh at him. 

Sidney swears at them, shoves at them as pulled back into the skate and converges with the rest of the team, but he feels warm and kind of really good about it. Even when it’s gone well, he’s always felt kind of shaky talking about Geno with other people, before and after. But that had felt right, easy, and from the seats, sprawled with a heat pack on his shoulder, Geno is beaming at them, like he knows. 

It is this thought that makes him head off alone while waiting for Geno to be done with the trainers and make the call he’s been avoiding for way too long.

“Hi,” he says, when Colby picks up. “I have to tell you something.”

 

And at the end of it all, when Sidney is practically hiccupping every other word, and Mario has said some things and probably held some things back, he looks Sidney in the eye and he asks, “Were you happy with Geno, Sidney?” 

“Yes,” Sidney says, without hesitation. That’s never been something he could doubt.

“Then you already know what you have to do,” Mario tells him. 

 

When Sidney meets Evgeni, he doesn’t understand anything of what he says except for Sidney’s name and a soft, hesitant “hello” when he shakes his hand. Even the words that Gonch translates aren’t making much sense, because Sidney is so excited he might burst, right there in Mario’s cavernous front hall. 

The right thing to say to Evgeni is “hello” back, and maybe “welcome to Pittsburgh,” or something like that. Sidney’s mind is racing, though, and Evgeni’s grip on his hand is strong and unwavering and very, very real. Sidney’s always been pretty good at saying the right thing, but now it’s like he’s forgotten how.

“You’re finally here,” is what Sidney says breathlessly, and everybody laughs except for Evgeni, who doesn’t understand.

And when Sidney wakes up, Geno’s hand is still in his, and it still feels very real. Everything else is hazy, swimming before his eyes as they blink open, but Geno is the first thing to come into focus, his eyes wide as he leans over the hospital bed.

Sidney doesn’t hear Geno right away. He sounds far, and he has to lean closer to Sidney and tell him slowly about the puck that had hit him and the surgery. He hears, “We won,” and, “Staying with you,” and he can close his eyes because that’s all he really needs to know. 

He can’t talk yet, but he can squeeze Geno’s hand and drift off again and think _you’re here_ and know that Geno gets it. He can know he’s not dreaming and he doesn’t have to pinch himself; he just believes it, solidly and warmly.

Sidney doesn’t hear what Geno says next, but he believes it’s probably _Love you._


End file.
